And Away We Go
by hotmama4jd
Summary: SEQUEL to Premature Love.  Follow the lives of Bella and Edward's premature babies as they try to adjust to life outside the NICU.  *Completely based on a true story.*
1. Prologue

**AN: Characters aren't mine, but the story is. I live it.**

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**Prologue: Year 8 (about 5 months ago)**

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**BPOV**

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I shouldn't have been nervous. Goodness knows I have bided my time in enough waiting rooms with my kids to last thousands of hours. Waiting to see some pediatric specialist was old hat to me.

But this was different.

We had known that there is something significantly wrong with Elizabeth for quite some time – years even. Neither Edward nor I wanted to believe it, but we could no longer bury our heads in the sand. Ironically, we had always said that it would be easier for us to deal with physical problems rather than emotional problems.

Irony is a motherfucking bitch.

Since Edward had gone back to work full time, I had been the one to spearhead the effort to get Elizabeth some help. We had been going to family therapy for about 24 months now. It has helped. It helped me be a better parent to Elizabeth by learning new ways to deal with her outbursts. It helped her find a few more "appropriate coping skills" for her problems. Her moments of complete self-loathing. Her moments of self-harm where she would scratch the skin off of her arms and bang her head on the floor. Her moments of being wound up so tight that the only way to come down is to crash.

Most of Anthony and Elizabeth's physical problems had finally been "figured out". They are still there, but we have developed coping strategies to deal with them. They were the "easy" part. The mental problems – they are frightening, terrifying. There are no exercises you can do for mental illness.

When Elizabeth and I were called back to see the child psychiatrist, I felt myself move into my protective state. My emotional protection allowed me to take in information and ask questions but kept me from bawling my eyes out. I have LOTS of practice at this.

I grabbed Elizabeth's hand as we followed the middle-aged psychiatrist back to her office. The doctor's office was surprisingly sparse which surprised me until I realized she probably had violent patients who would destroy anything she had out. You don't go see a child psychiatrist for shits and giggles, especially since the waiting period for an appointment is nine months. Since we had been seeing a family therapist in this same children's hospital, the doctor was familiar with Elizabeth's history which saved me the pain of going over every bit of it from the past few years.

As we took the two chairs in front of her barren desk, I tried to get Elizabeth to talk. She wouldn't say a word. She just pulled her coat up over her head and hid. It was left to me to pull out every ugly, painful piece of Elizabeth's history. The self-harm since she was three. The self-loathing that never goes away. The suicide threats when she was four years old. The violent head-banging that we constantly try to get her to modify. The way she could flip from happy to sad in a second. The way that sad and angry felt more comfortable to her than happy.

My beautiful daughter doesn't know how to be happy.

The rest of the meeting went by in such a blur. I know what was said. I know I could repeat most of it back to Edward that night after the kids went to bed. But what I was stuck with now was the psychiatrist's words ringing in my head.

"Mrs. Cullen, I do not like to 'label' children this young, but your daughter is showing classic signs of being bi-polar with significant depression. It is really too young to say for sure, and there are some medications…"

_Bi-polar with significant depression._

_Bi-polar with significant depression._

_Bi-polar with significant depression._

My beautiful, wonderful eight-year-old daughter will probably suffer and struggle with bi-polar disorder for the rest of her life.

Did anyone else hear the sound of my heart shattering into tiny pieces?

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**AN: Well know you know why my posts have dwindled. My daughter is in the fight of her life. Honestly, I had suspected she was bi-polar since she was about 4 but it just seemed to "crazy" to believe. I hate it when I am right.**


	2. Chapter 1 Who, What, When, Why & How?

**AN: Characters aren't mine, but the story is. I live it.**

**This is very, very short – but I wanted to give readers (especially those that haven't had kids) a sense of the first few weeks at home. Ugh. I am already working on a chapter going back to go through all the lovely doctor appointments we had that first week.**

**This is unbeta'd because I felt so bad for taking so freakin' long to get a chapter out. So very sorry but RL is kicking my ass.**

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**Chapter 1. Who, What, Where, Why and How?**

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**?POV – Mental Diary Entries**

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**Day 1 at home.**

Ok, we are organized! We have diapers, wipes, creams, outfits, spit-up cloths, and a functioning laundry machine with detergent. At the advice of our pediatrician, we have a pad of paper where we can list when and how much each baby ate at what time and record the number/type of diapers used. It seems a bit silly – how are we going to _forget_ who ate what? And forget baby-poo? I don't think so.

We are ready.

**Day 3.**

Another doctor appointment this morning. Okay. We can do this according to plan. We pack the car beforehand with the diaper bag, our daily note-taking and other medical information that we have to drag along with us. Now if we get the babies up at 9:30, they can be fed, changed and in their car seats by 10:15 then a 20-25 minute drive and we will be at our 10:45 appointment with plenty of time unless there is traffic or a diaper explosion or a sluggish feeder or a stubborn burp that won't burp or a massive spit-up or…

Okay, the doctor appointment lasted for so long we have to feed them before we get in the car to go home or they will scream the entire way home. Thank god we are in a pediatric office so everyone is understanding of our predicament. We camp out in the corner of the exam room and take 45 minutes to feed and burp them while working together. I can't imagine doing this by myself.

We pack the babies, car seats, diaper bag, doctor's notes and ourselves back in the car so we can get home in time to repeat the feeding cycle all over again.

**Day 7. **

So tired. Need sleep. Cannot live on one hour sleep at a time. God help me. Can't let spouse know I am falling apart. It is so hard to feed them, especially at night when we have to be on our guard for apnea. Anthony has the worst habit of "forgetting to breathe" when eating. Nothing worse than watching him suck away at breast or bottle then realize he is absolutely blue and not breathing. Both of us watch each baby to make sure they stay nice and pink from breathing. There was no zoning out while feeding these babies.

**Day 14.**

Seriously. Just kill me. Do you know how long it takes to feel both babies by yourself? It takes _at least_ 45 minutes to feed, diaper and put the baby back down, then you had to do the same for the other. That is over 90 minutes of work and since they eat every 2 ½ to 3 hours. You do the math. My brain no longer does higher functions.

**Day 15.**

When was the last time I showered?

**Day 16 (at least that is what the pad of paper says).**

My brain function continues to decline. We have both completely given up using our babies' given names since they have _way too many syllables._ They are now "the boy" and "the girl".

"Honey, have you fed the girl yet?"

"Did you write down that the boy had a dirty diaper?"

**Day what-ever-the-fuck.**

Need sleep. Need sleep. Didn't I just get to bed? Why are they crying now? I poke sleeping spouse and tell 'em to get up. I can't do both right now.

**I forgot how to tell time.**

I stretch and feel refreshed! After glancing at the clock I realize I slept for **three-straight-hours**. Oh my god. That is a miracle. I think I hear Esme's voice down the hall before I roll over and fall back into a coma.

**AN: Makes you want to reach for some sort of permanent birth control doesn't it? Actually, every time I read fanfic where Bella has twins and all is just peachy and romantic I just laugh my ass off. I mean really people – twins are just hellish hard work that first year – NOTHING romantic about it. And forget sex. I don't think my hubs and I even kissed for the first 4 months the kids were home. Seriously.**


	3. Chapter 2 First of Thousands

**AN: Twilight isn't mine. The "babies" are but they aren't babies anymore.**

**My life has been really hellish recently. First, I broke my right hand about two month ago. (fun). On a serious note, "Elizabeth" has taken a sharp turn for the worse and I have spent hours the last few weeks looking for possible in-patient treatment for her. I don't know what the future holds for her, but it is pretty grim.**

**This isn't beta'd b/c I felt so horrible it took so long for this to be posted. I suck.**

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**Chapter 2. First of Thousands**

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**BPOV – first night and day home**

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I stretched and grinned as I opened my eyes this morning to the sound of Anthony's sounds. Edward and I had been up with the babies three times last night, but we were so excited to have them both at home. I finally felt like a "real" mother.

It was a long night, mostly because Anthony still had problems with feeding-related apnea. As I breast fed him, I had to watch his chest for movement and his color carefully to make sure he didn't forget to breathe. It was absolutely terrifying to see him turn bluish and have to stop feeding and stimulate him to breathe. This had happened a hundred times in the NICU, but when Anthony was hospitalized, the nurses were ultimately responsible and capable of handling it. I always had "back-up". Now, it was all on us. Luckily, Anthony had only one episode last night.

Anthony was also definitely the eater of the two. He was always the one to wake up first, followed closely by Elizabeth. Elizabeth still had not learned to nurse, so Edward would feed her a bottle of breastmilk while I fed Anthony.

I have to admit I would never have thought that feeding two newborns in the middle of the night would be romantic, but each feeding was so wonderful. The only light was provided by a small lamp and the only noises that filled the room were the grunts, slurps, swallows and movements of the babies. I sat on a recliner with Anthony positioned on a pillow so that he could nurse at my breast. Edward sat on a padded folding chair with Elizabeth on his lap positioned so he could face my direction. Our eyes would wander from the baby on our lap to the other baby then to each other's face. Few words were exchanged, but the love that the four of us had for each other saturated the room.

I will never forget the gleam in Edward's beautiful green eyes as he whispered he loved us.

8:00 AM

I snuck out of bed in an effort to let Edward sleep a bit more. I knew I would need to learn how to handle both babies by myself at some point when he went back to work. I figured now was a good time to practice.

When I walked into the nursery, Anthony was squirming around in his swaddled receiving blanket. I had taken to calling him my little "baby burrito". He was so much calmer when swaddled. Elizabeth was awake, but she seemed content to just quietly look around.

I grabbed Anthony and a pillow and sat down in the recliner to begin nursing. I loved nursing him. He was so warm and cuddly against me and he was so _grateful_ for milk. As I sat there rocking him, I would run my fingers gently around his ears. _Could he hear me?_ We knew he had some hearing loss since he was tested before he left the NICU, but we had no idea the extent of the damage the antibiotics had caused to his hearing. Those antibiotics had saved his life, but at what cost? Would he ever play the piano like his father? Would he be able to hear my voice? Listen to nursery songs?

When Anthony had his fill, Edward came into the room. We just grinned at each other. I began to feed Elizabeth her bottle while Edward changed Anthony. We had to leave in an hour for the pediatrician and like all new parents, we had to have the babies in ridiculously cute outfits for their first time out of the house. Little did we know that the babies would spend the entire time in their diapers while in the exam room.

Once both babies were fed, burped, changed then spit-up and re-changed, we carefully tucked their five-plus pounds little bodies into their car seats. The car seats absolutely swallowed them both. Once we finally had them in the car, I swear Edward drove ten miles an hour below the speed limit. Never a good idea to drive slowly in New Jersey – I have never been honked at so much in my life. Did you know that Jersey drivers can eat a slice of pizza, talk on their cell phone, honk their horn _and_ flip you off at the same time while driving 70 mph down the Parkway? NASCAR has _nothing_ on these natives.

When we finally got to the doctor's building, we parked and Edward carried both of the babies in their carseats. As we entered the elevator, a middle-aged woman entered with us. She would ask questions that I would answer million times in the future.

"Oh, they are so tiny! How old are they?"

How do you answer that? "Well, they are ten weeks old, but they are three weeks short of their due date." No one would understand that answer without some sort of visual aid. We learned very quickly to just tell the person their "gestational" age. In other words, we had to subtract three months from their "real" age. We would do this for almost three years.

"How much do they weigh?"

I was constantly surprised at how fascinated people were at how little Anthony and Elizabeth weighed. I quickly came to realize that the public placed an inordinate amount of faith in the weight of infants. While in the NICU, we were quickly educated that weight has almost nothing to do with the ability of a baby to survive. It is better to have a four pound, 39 week gestational newborn than to have a six pound, 33 week gestational infant. A 39 week infant would probably go home from the hospital with you, a 33 week newborn would be admitted to the NICU and probably stay for a week or two until their lungs developed further. The most important indicator for a baby's health was definitely their time in utereo.

"Are your babies breathing okay?"

In the first few weeks, we also had lots of people comment on the noises Anthony and Elizabeth made. Preemie babies sound like little billy goats for a while before they mature. I am not exaggerating. They make goat-sounds. Seriously. When we entered that elevator, it sounded like a heard of goats got on with us. Edward and I found it funny as hell, but it never failed to alarm people.

"Wow. Are you guys Irish?"

Elizabeth and Anthony were also pale as ghosts. Edward and I are both very fair-skinned people and both babies were incredibly anemic. Anemia plus pale-white-kid genes makes for some freakishly translucent babies. Both babies had received three blood transfusions in the hospital, but in order for their body to make red blood cells on their own, we couldn't transfuse them again. Their body had to be "forced" into doing that job for themselves. For the next several weeks, we looked like a family of vampires when we went anywhere together.

My all-time favorite conversation took place quite frequently:

Stranger: "Oh, your babies are so adorable. Are they twins?"

Me: "Yes, this is Elizabeth and Anthony. We are really enjoying them."

Stranger: "Are they identical?"

Me (trying not to roll my eyes): "Ah, no. They are fraternal twins. One is a boy and one is a girl."

Stranger: "That's great! Now you have one of each and you don't have to have any more!"

Me (smiling tightly). _WTF? Would I have to keep having babies until I had one of each? It is a mandate? I consider having kids a blessing, not a must-do!_

Stranger: "Are these your first babies?"

Me: "Yes. I am very lucky since they are both such easy-going infants and my husband is fully involved in their care."

Stranger: "Well, be glad that you had twins first! That way you don't know any different about how much harder it is to take care of two babies instead of one."

Me (rolling my eyes). _Yeah, there is no way I could use my imagination to think about how much easier it would be to have _one _baby instead of _two.

9:30 AM Dr. K's office

We actually arrived on time for our appointment. Both Edward and I had triumphant yes-we-are-super-responsible-organized-parents-who-are-not-late!-grins on our faces. _Yeah, we rocked._

I had gotten the name of Dr. K on the recommendation of several of the NICU nurses. Originally, I had chosen a pediatrician based on the word of a few women that I knew who lived in New Jersey. However, once Anthony was born early, and I also became Elizabeth's mother, Edward and I decided that we should probably have the recommendation of the NICU nurses. Our babies would have complicated medical issues beyond the standard newborn care. Dr. K was the nurses' hands-down favorite.

When we arrived at Dr. K's office, we were immediately taken back to a room and began stripping the babies down to their diapers for weights and measurements. Both babies had gained a few ounces so we knew that we were feeding them appropriately. Elizabeth's head circumference was measured and re-measured. It had not changed from the beginning of the week when she was discharged. _Thank god._

Dr. K entered the room as the nurse was finished up her initial paperwork. Dr. K was in his mid-thirties and had a calm, quiet demeanor. He set both Edward and me at ease within minutes of his arrival.

We handed over Anthony for Dr. K to examine and as Dr. K was looking over our son, Edward and I began running through our list of questions. Most of our comments and questions were just a confirmation of what we needed to do or doctors to see in the immediate future. I quickly noticed that while Dr. K answered all of our questions with little to no hesitation, his entire focus was on Anthony. Dr. K watched him like a hawk. Dr. K ran through many reflexes tests and watched Anthony's body motions. When Dr. K took Elizabeth to examine her, she became his focus. It was very comforting to know that he was taking so much time to become comfortable with the baseline of their abilities and issues. Even once he was finished with both babies' exams, he pulled up a stool and quietly sat down to make sure Edward and I had no further questions.

It was by far the most relaxed yet thorough meeting I have ever had with a physician. In the end, Dr. K spent over 90 minutes with us, yet had booked his time for two hours so we would have plenty of time get all of our questions asked.

Now if only all of our physicians and specialists were this easy to work with…

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**AN: I have a confession to make. *cringes* So when life was so awful in the last week or so, I used fanfic to "escape" by re-reading a few great stories – Shay Savage, kdc2239, Betti G., savanavansmutsmut and CaraNo being some writers I fell back on. I was re-reading CaraNo's "This Life" (now who doesn't love Whistler?) when I realized that she hadn't posted anything under "My Life". So my confession: I actually PM'd her and asked her – very nicely – if she was visited by the spirit of Irish Boy would she update My Life for me since my life sucks. *hangs head*. I have NEVER asked an author to update before this. Never. I sort of figure that an author will update when they can. Can't force it, ya know? But I did. **

**Guilt. Such guilt.**

**So if CaraNo gets on a rant about demanding readers, it was me. I did it. I await my punishment. Maybe I will just go reread The Dominant/The Submissive or MOTU – I think maybe I need a good dose of BDSM. **


	4. Chapter 3 Unending

**AN: Twilight isn't mine. The "babies" are but they aren't babies anymore.**

**So this is my excuse for taking FOREVER for updating. I can't really go and describe what happened nine years ago when all of my being is focused on today.**

_**This chapter is current day so Anthony and Elizabeth are 9 years old.**_

**Chapter 4. Unending.**

**BPOV**

"I hate you."

"You are the worst mother ever."

Yeah. All parents have heard that. No big deal right? All kids get uncontrollably angry and say things that they don't mean. Most parents know to not take it personally, let them cool down then deal with them.

If only it were that easy for our family.

"I want to rip your face off."

"I wish you were dead!"

What did I do to make Elizabeth so frighteningly angry with me? Nothing. I didn't say a single word to her.

Her brother had gotten in trouble – again – for forgetting to take the garbage out. Anthony was a bit rude with me and I spoke sharply to him. I punished Anthony by grounding him, he got angry and stormed from the room. Just like a "normal" kid and "normal" parent. Right?

Well, I can't lose my temper in my house. I can't be overly happy, sad, scared or concerned – at least within detection of my daughter. I have to be calm, cool and collected at all times. I am not allowed to show excessive emotions whether it be happiness or sadness. No feelings were allowed to show on my face. I have learned during the last nine years that I am Elizabeth's emotional touchstone. Whatever emotion I express, Elizabeth picks up and magnifies times a million. By getting mad at Anthony for being rude, I set her off.

Now Elizabeth was in her room, throwing things around and yelling.

I sat in the living room by myself. Thinking – why us? Haven't we been through enough? Why a disease that just can't been seen, can't be cured, can't be understood? This disease definitely doesn't inspire others to be understanding and empathetic. It is too scary. Goodness knows Edward and I are scared out of our minds. My daughter is rarely truly happy. My daughter lives in hell most of the time. Who wants to feel so out of control?

Elizabeth has been diagnosed as bipolar II. Basically, she is depressed and hates herself. Beth has the worst of it all. Most people with bipolar disease have spells of mania – where they are unreasonably happy, grandiose, overly sexual, spend money like water, etc. Most of the medication and research is to help people deal with mania. There are few medications that help people with the depressive aspects of bipolar. The SSRIs like Lexapro, Celexa and Prozac do not work with people who are bipolar. The ADD/ADHD medications like Ritalin are not appropriate either even though Beth can't sit still to save her life. Beth also deals with what is called "rapid cycling" and "mixed states". She flip-flops between moods within hours, she also gets what I call "manically depressed". It is like she wants to crawl out of her own skin with her anger and self-hatred.

A noise in the living room doorway captured my attention. I looked up to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway with hate and misery written all over her supposed-to-be-pretty face. No one can look pretty with that much rage marring their features. She stomped over to me and thrust the paper into my face before she turned and ran back to her room to slam the door.

Sigh.

Elizabeth writes notes when upset. I read the note, but I don't really have to because I already know what it said.

_Dear Mom, _

_I hate you. You are stoopid. I wish you were dead. _

_Beth_

My heart ached. Not for me but for her. I knew she doesn't feel that way. And the worse her outburst and angry words were, the worse she felt when the rage wore off.

As awful as the rage is, the sobbing is worse. Much, much worse. Imagine your child losing a beloved pet or toy. Sobbing so hard that they can barely breathe much less talk. Sob so hard that they vomit. Now imagine them doing that for HOURS. Imagine this happening two or three days a week. Hours of sobbing because their favorite pair of pants is too small, or they can't figure out their homework or they can't buy something they want. Now imagine that there is NOTHING you can do to make it better. Hugs don't work (and are usually not accepted when offered). Talking doesn't work. Ignoring it doesn't work. Nothing works. She just sobs. And I just sit by helplessly with my heart bleeding at my feel but my face and attitude very, very carefully blank. Any emotion from me just makes her worse.

I feel like the worst mother in the world.

Pulling myself off the couch, I walked over to the computer and fired off an email to her psychiatrist.

_Dear Dr. Bates,_

_Elizabeth is starting to become more volatile. In the past week she is having lots of trouble with her frustration tolerance and uncontrollable sobbing._

_Her meds need adjusting – what should we do?_

_Thanks,_

_Bella_

I sat at the computer for another half hour or so until I heard a noise at the door way again. I looked over and see that "my" Elizabeth had returned. She walked over to me and put her forehead on my shoulder. I put my hand her hair and kissed the top of her head.

No words were needed.

She felt awful for her behavior. And her apologetic hug was enough for me. "My" Elizabeth was back.

But for how long?


	5. Chapter 4 More Doctors, More Worry

**AN: Twilight isn't mine. The "babies" are but they aren't babies anymore.**

**Anyhoo… this is just a thank you for all those that wanted more. Remember, this is not necessarily rainbows and sunshine.**

**BIG thanks for reviewers that I might not have contacted, one of my grandparents died a few weeks ago and I have been dealing with grief, traveling, etc. I sort of got unorganized when it came to review replies.**

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**Chapter 4. More Doctors, More Worry**

**BPOV**

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I was so excited to have the babies home, and yet I was so tired. Edward and I were virtually on our own. Esme was sick, Carlisle had to work, Emmett was useless. I'll admit that it was nice to have a few weeks by ourselves to get into a routine and get to know the babies even better.

Anthony definitely takes after his father. Even though they share no DNA, they are both pretty laid back. Both guys are content to just lie on the couch and watch baseball. Well, they are content until it was time to eat. Antony will eat us out of house and home. Since I am exclusively breastfeeding Anthony, I get time with my son every two and a half to three hours. The only time Anthony really lost his temper was when he was due to eat. And if not fed immediately - _watch_ _out_!

Elizabeth never got angry because she wasn't fed. Usually Edward fed her from my stash of frozen breastmilk while I fed Anthony. Our new little family would sit in the nursery and feed the babies and talk quietly. Even though this routine repeated itself every two or three hours, I treasured every moment. The quiet sounds of babies eating, loud burps and baby-gas that just had Edward in giggles and those awesome moments where the babies would lie on my lap and look me over and try to focus on my face. I still found myself marveling over my new family.

Even with all of the unknowns – life was better than I could have hoped for.

In the days after the babies were released from the NICU, we had to take both infants down to the hospital's ultrasound department to have their heads measured. Because of Elizabeth's serious brain bleed and the remaining risk of bleeding to Anthony, they both had to be checked. Unlike in the pediatrician's office where they just measured the circumference of both of their heads, at the ultrasound clinic they will use an ultrasound wand to measure the size of the ventricles in their heads through the "soft spot" on the top of their heads.

I grabbed the diaper bag while Edward pushed the stroller behind the ultrasound tech. We were lucky that she was very business-like and got her equipment set-up with little idle chatter. I just wasn't in the mood.

"Okay, I'm all set up here. Can I please see Anthony?"

Edward reached into the back seat of the stroller and scooped up Anthony in such a way that he stayed completely asleep.

"Just turn him so I can reach the top of his head."

I shuffled back a little bit so Edward could maneuver Anthony closer to the small ultrasound wand she held in her hand. The technician placed a small amount of warm gel on the end of the wand then gently placed it against Anthony's soft spot. The screen in front of us immediately filled with a picture of his brain-grey matter surrounded two nickel-sized black wells of fluid in the ventricles. The technician took a few minutes to measure each ventricle before she gently wiped the wand and Anthony's head.

Edward carefully placed Anthony back into the stroller with Anthony still completely oblivious to what had occurred. As the tech sterilized the wand, I lifted Elizabeth from the stroller and moved her into position. As soon as the wand touched her head, Elizabeth's eyes popped open to look into mine. She seemed to be trying to tell me something. I knew what it was when I looked up to the screen.

The screen was filled with the image of Elizabeth's brain. Except this time, instead of grey matter surrounding nickel-sized ventricles, the ventricles were so large that they took up a majority of the ultrasound screen. They were huge. My daughter's brain had definitely been affected by her hemorrhage.

I looked to Edward. His sickly green pallor matched mine.

What did that mean for our daughter?

Later that night at home, we sat on the couch and our eyes met. It was if by mutual agreement we decided not to talk about it. We both saw what we saw, but we couldn't do anything about it. We had to trust that our physicians would do the majority of the worrying for us. We can watch our kids carefully, report any symptoms and educate ourselves, but worrying about it was wasted energy. And we didn't have energy to waste.

After our lovely appointment with the ultrasound clinic, I was even more apprehensive about going to the pediatric ophthalmologist. Fortunately, Edward was still off on daddy-vacation so he was able to go with us to the doctor.

Dr. Westfield's office was in an old mansion that had been converted into doctor's offices. After finding the elusive street parking spot, we lugged each baby in their car carrier into the office. The inner office was small but had a corner with toys. A few mothers and kids sat in the office, luckily they were quiet so both babies continued to sleep through our check-in process.

They wouldn't be sleeping for long.

Because the babies were still so susceptible to infection, we were shown into Dr. Westfield's office to wait our turn. We didn't have to wait long until our turn was called. Stupidly, I decided to take Elizabeth and leave Edward and Anthony in the office so Anthony could continue to sleep.

Stupid, stupid decision.

Dr. Westfield's a tiny woman with a very kind face and soft voice. She explained that she would be checking for ROP or retinopathy of prematurity. Basically, too many blood vessels grow in the eye causing damage and in some cases blindness if not caught and surgically corrected. So the babies would have to be monitored every few days until Dr. Westfield was sure they were out of danger.

Sounds simple right? Ever seen Clockwork orange? Ugh.

Dr. Westfield had me sit down on the exam chair with Elizabeth on my lap on her back. Her head was on my knees and her feet were on my belly. I had to wrap my left arm around both of her arms to secure her hand. I then was instructed to wrap my right hand around Elizabeth's head so she could not move her head. Once I had her secured, Dr. Westfield approached with these horrible looking eye-lid-holding-open torture devices. I turned my head, clenched my eyes shut and listened to my daughter howl.

I felt sort of sick. AND I had another baby to go!

After hearing Elizabeth cry from the other room, Edward flat-out refused to bring Anthony in the room. _Chicken-shit_. So I grabbed Anthony and repeated the procedure for holding him still for doctor-approved torture.

Unfortunately, Anthony had a mild case of ROP. The physician was not worried, she seemed pretty confident that his ROP would resolve without the need for treatment, but to be safe, he still had to be monitored. We set up an appointment to have Anthony re-checked in three days. When I told Edward, he told me that he was pretty sure he had an off-site must-attend meeting scheduled that day.

Liar. Liar, liar pants on fire.

However when I took Anthony back into have his eyes checked, the torture we both had to endure to get him through his eye exam was completely worth it to have the peace of mind knowing his ROP had gotten significantly better. Anthony was going to dodge a huge bullet and avoid eye surgery. After setting up an appointment for both babies to be seen in six months, I left the office with a huge smile on my face. It was a wonderful feeling to know that one potential problem had been left behind us. I went home determined to spend the evening enjoying this victory for our little family.

**I actually have most of the next chapter written! Wow! Hopefully you won't have to wait MONTHS for me to update. *winces***


	6. Pictures!

Everyone,

So I have had several more people who want to see pictures of 'Elizabeth' and 'Anthony'. I have finally created a facebook page under my username 'hotmama4jd' and posted an album for both Premature Love and And Away We Go. The pictures right now only go to about 6 months but I will post more as the story progresses.

I am almost finished with the next chapter of And Away We Go. Hopefully the days of horrific posting delays is behind me…

Thanks for reading and being so supportive of me,

Hotmama4jd


	7. Chapter 5 Mother's Instinct

Chapter 5. Mother's Intuition

Present Day:

BPOV 

I knew that this was a bad idea. I knew it. I motherfucking knew it but did it anyway. I will never, ever forgive myself for this.

Edward needed to go to this stupid family-day work-party, but the kids and I don't _have _to attend. But I also knew that Edward absolutely hates these types of appetizer/booze/food type parties where you mingle and small talk and whatever. He had to go, his boss was hosting the party. With the economy the way it is, you have to do everything you can to keep your job. In the past 9 years since Anthony and Elizabeth was born, Edward has kept his job though eight rounds of major layoffs. This party was just another way to "network" or "ass kiss".

Unfortunately, Elizabeth had been having a rough time of it the last week. Her bipolar symptoms have been literally cutting her off at the knees. She could not control her temper or impulses and she does not do well with crowds on a good day. She had fallen apart dramatically every day at least once a day for the past week. I know we needed to adjust her medication, but I was at a loss as to what to do. Usually, I would just adjust her medication myself, but Elizabeth was due for a blood test to check for toxicities. I didn't want to change anything until she got those results back. It was the weekend, so I couldn't contact her psychiatrist for advice. Elizabeth was the definition of unstable bipolar II child right now. A powder keg that may or may not explode. And no one knows where the fuse is.

I knew that going to this party would be a disaster. I feel it with every instinct I have.

But I was torn. I knew Edward really needed us with him when he goes to this family-invited work party. I knew there was a strong possibility that Elizabeth could not be able to handle it and fall apart. I also knew that she could be fine. Her behavior changes on a dime. I had been agonizing over this decision since eight this morning. When it was time to leave to the party, I convinced myself that we would go. Elizabeth had had a rough morning but good afternoon. More than anything, I don't want to sell her short. I don't want to hover or limit her based on my fears for her.

The drive down the Parkway was the routine NASCAR event that it always it. I think that the 55 mph speed limit is just sort of a suggestion since everyone goes 80 mph and faster. Anthony was excited about the fact that they were going to have lots of food, Elizabeth was quiet and rocking herself in her car seat. My heart was pounding and it had nothing to do with the shitty traffic.

This was a bad idea. I could feel it in my gut. I needed to tell Edward to turn the car around and go home. But I don't.

We got to the party relatively early as there were only three or four cars parked in front of their large McMansion. As we started to pile out of the van, I noticed Elizabeth's body language was a bit stiff and her face was a mask of emotions. As we got to the front door, we all removed our shoes in the large foyer at the request of the homeowner. To our left was a smallish living room with several pieces of overstuffed white leather sofas, the right held an ornate dining room that looked like it was never used. In front of us was the family room/kitchen area. It was very large and tables were loaded with food and drinks. There were more bottles of alcohol and beer than I had ever seen outside of a liquor store. I chemists like to get their drink on.

At the far end of the living area was a small space with rather pathetic variety of toys. I left Anthony and Elizabeth to play with a mini-Foosball table and joined Edward in the kitchen. Edward was already eating his weight in the wide variety of appetizers. I wasn't sure if he was eating so he wouldn't have to chat with people or if because the man can be a bottomless pit when it comes to food. Once I joined him we small-talked with a few people, luckily I had the kids to check on so if the conversation got too unbearable I just excused myself to check my kids. Brilliant!

Unfortunately, Elizabeth was not doing well. Every time I went to check on her, she was getting quieter and just sat down on the front-room couch in the dark doing her rocking/calming routine. Shit.

I went back to Edward and told him we were going to have go soon but Edward got sucked into a conversation about modern medicine. Good Lord, talk about a subject that some chemists can't leave well enough alone. After standing by for what felt like hours, I went back to check on Elizabeth but couldn't find her on the couch or in the play room. As I passed by the hallway to the front room, I noticed feet sticking out from behind the overstuffed chair.

Oh God.

Elizabeth had crawled behind the chair to get away from everything and was sobbing. She was trying to sing which is usually a calming influence but she was just too far into chaos. I got down on my hands and knees and tried to talk to her, but she was so far in her own mental hell to communicate. I had to leave my sobbing child so I could go get Edward and Anthony. As we are frantically trying to get dressed in our coats and shoes, Elizabeth went and hid in their dining room so she wouldn't be seen by anyone.

After we got into the car, Elizabeth was violently rocking herself. Every once in a while I could see her try to literally scratch the skin off of her face and arms. It was obvious that she was at her wits end. I gave her 2 mg of Xanax which is enough to knock out an elephant, but it had no effect.

When we finally got home, she lay on the floor in a full-out physical temper tantrum. As the stable force in her life, I get 95% of her angst. As my beautiful daughter lay on the floor writhing in mental agony, she screamed that she hated me, hated our family, wanted to run away, hated herself, and I was the worst mother ever.

I sure felt like the worst mother ever. Why oh why did I agree to go to that fucking party? I _knew_ it was a bad idea. I let every one of Elizabeth's mental blows hit me. I deserved them.

What do we do with our miserable child? Our options are awful. We could take her to the emergency room, but there are no psychiatrists on duty in the ER on Saturday evenings. She would probably be pumped full of drugs and admitted to an adult psychiatric ward and we would not be able to contact her for three days. We could call 911, but they would just give us a ride to the ER. We could continue to let her fling herself around on the floor, watching to make sure she doesn't hurt herself and keep her home.

My daughter was in hell. And so was I.


End file.
